


"Because you chose her."

by Inactive Account (sassybleu)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Friendship/Love, I'm Sorry, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Suicide, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-08
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-12 07:50:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2101518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sassybleu/pseuds/Inactive%20Account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three months after the wedding, the sky was turning grey as dark clouds were being carried closer to the city by slow winds. The sun got caught behind one of the larger, and the city plunged into a slightly humid atmosphere, the point at which you look outside and know a storm is brewing. The rain was a little ways off, but grew closer with each passing moment, the black clouds rolling closer and closer while thunder cackled in the sky every so often; lightning illuminating a silhouette every now and again. </p><p>“Mary’s pregnant, Sherlock. It’s a boy.”<br/>Sherlock nodded in confirmation of John’s news, a fact that he had figured out several weeks prior.<br/>“I have already congratulated her on the matter…That is the custom, yes?”<br/>“Yes…It is.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sherlock

**Author's Note:**

> Goal: 1,000 words
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing except my words

Three months after the wedding, the sky was turning grey as dark clouds were being carried closer to the city by slow winds. The sun got caught behind one of the larger, and the city plunged into a slightly humid atmosphere, the point at which you look outside and know a storm is brewing. The rain was a little ways off, but grew closer with each passing moment, the black clouds rolling closer and closer while thunder cackled in the sky every so often; lightning illuminating a silhouette every now and again.

St. Bart’s was a steady ivory, which was faded with age, leaving crevices filled with darker shadows. The city street bustled with the everyday commotion, becoming less and less populated as the people rushed home for shelter from the oncoming storm. It was a slow day for the staff inside, and everyone wanted to go home, and enjoy a quiet night in.

He wore a parchment coloured jumper, along with his coat, and comfortable blue jeans. Holding his phone in his palm, waiting for a text, the man began to walk in to St. Bart’s, stopping in front of the building when he received a call.

A charcoal coloured belstaff sits on top of a tailored suit jacket, which lays over a maroon button-down. Black trousers rest comfortably on their owner’s hips, and leather shoes are worn to finish the look. The tips of the leather dress shoes rest comfortably; cradled by air, while the rest of the shoes are pushing down against the concrete. A phone rests in the man’s right hand, and is held up to his ear, in the middle of a call,

“I’m not working today.”

               “Then why’d you call me to stop by? I’m already here.”

“Do you want to watch this time?”

The older man paled in the face, shaking his head at his thoughts,

               “No, no, no. You stop it right now. This isn’t funny Sherlock.”

“Walk inside, John. Go talk to Molly.”

John blinked his eyes clear of the gloss that glazed over them, and reluctantly, looked up. His breath caught in his throat as he became once again familiar with the scene in front of him.

               “How long will you be gone this time?”

“Indefinitely.”

Sherlock’s face had water tracks down his cheeks, with new ones coming and making their marks every few seconds.

               “Please don’t. Things are going so great, Sherlock. Why do you need to leave? We’re finally happy.”

Sherlock choked out a laugh that sounded more like a sob than anything. His face grew a smile that replicated the mask he’d worn every day since John left. Behind it everything hid; fear, hurt, insecurity, but above all else, pain. He’d grown to be no less of an actor since his last fall, but soon enough he dropped the prop, for once letting everything show. Baring himself to the world once more, when all he had received previous times was hate, criticism, and judgment. But this time, he was free. The only thing he could take now was the wind hitting him at the height. The small drops of water hitting his face as they showed promise of more to come. No one could hurt him here, with the exception of one man. The man who had given him everything, and gave him promises that he always would, only to rip them away like a rug from under his feet. That man’s life was wonderful; filled with love and happiness that came from all around. Surrounded by loyal people who he deserved in his life. But his own life was empty. Being with John had let him see what life was _supposed_ to be like. It showed him what it was like to care, and be cared for; but at two simple words all those things turned away, to simple memories he could only cherish.

“You are exceedingly so. I cannot say I share the feeling.”

John’s breath was sped up, and his head shook bath and forth on its own accord. Running through his mind was a memory of the same scenario, which had been played out for different reasons, but all the same could be matched identically when the actions were viewed alone.

               “But I can help you. Sherlock, please, come down.”

“I’m afraid that this time, you won’t be able to heal me, dear doctor.”

John let out a choked sound and moved back on his forth on his feet. The adrenaline pumping in his veins urged him to take action, but his brain knew that it was pointless, and so kept itself grounded to the spot, only allowing him to look up at the detective standing on the ledge.

               “Mary’s pregnant, Sherlock. It’s a boy.”

Sherlock nodded in confirmation of John’s news, a fact that he had figured out several weeks prior.

“I have already congratulated her on the matter…That is the custom, yes?”

               “Yes…It is.”

“You’ll be a great father, John. You will provide for the child excellently.”

John’s tears renewed themselves, and he sniffed his nose as he blinked away the drops.

“Can I ask you something Sherlock?”

John shut his eyes as he said his next piece,

               “Why?”

Sherlock waited a few moments to respond, and John looked back up at him, waiting for his answer.

“Because you chose her.”

The last thought through his mind as he stepped off the ledge, came with a familiar voice, that taunted him on the way down,

 _Falling is just like flying, except there's a more... **permanent**_   _destination._

John closed his eyes before he heard the sickening _crack_ of a body hitting the pavement, and as if on cue, the sound synchronized with a loud roar of thunder, and a flash of lightning. John tried to swallow the lump in his throat, and settle down the nausea that was rising in his stomach, but soon bent over, hands on knees, and let it out. After emptying the contents of his stomach, and having his stomach reduce down to small flips, instead of harsh heaves, he stood up straight.

Sherlock’s body lay back-down on the pavement, his coat billowing out underneath him; a stark contrast to the paleness of the concrete. Blood surrounded his body, but was slowly being washed down to the gutter by the gentle drops of rain that lazily made their way down now. His eyes lay closed, and his mouth was open in a silent ‘ _O’_.

His heart’s last beats had pumped, his last thoughts had concluded, and his last words had been spoken.

As John reached the lifeless figure on the ground, tears poured down his face earnestly. He sat down on the concrete, and took Sherlock’s hand in his, intertwining their fingers with his other hand. Sherlock’s body was still warm, but John’s attempts and finding a pulse were useless, and somehow, he knew that it wasn’t a trick this time.

His dependency on Sherlock had waned over the past while since the fall, but he’d never realized that Sherlock’s had grown; and that the man could never have been satisfied living how he’d been forced to since.

Going on in life seemed even more impossible now than the first time he’d lost Sherlock, and in the back of his mind, his brain was asking, _How will we survive this time?_ John thought about Mary, their baby, and about everything he could’ve done to save the white face that lay beside him. And though he could see no future beyond the rest of the day, he vowed to himself, and to Sherlock, that he would not be forgotten.

Sherlock Holmes would not be a name that retired after one use.

 ***

After some months, a little boy was born, already sprouting some hair atop his skull, which stuck up messily in dark brown strands. As John held the baby in his arms, tears fell silently down his face as dark memories flooded his mind. He’d been particularly quiet since that day, and generally didn’t speak anymore, except for the rare sentence here and there that usually held significant importance to him. Usually they were bits of conversation he’d had with Sherlock, and he almost always uttered them on rainy days; a weather he’d hated since. But on this dark, grey day, as he stood in a room alone with his son, he spoke the words that would always be a painful-yet happy reminder to him,

“Welcome to the world, Sherlock Holmes Watson.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4/13/15: Please do not duplicate or post this content elsewhere without consent.


	2. John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One year after Sherlock's death, John's got something to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> totally got my butt kicked by liebling for not writing anything in forever.....and for leaving you guys hanging so long
> 
> don't hate me

            A year ago today there was fresh blood below. A stark contrast to the pale cement that lay beneath it. The crimson tendrils flowed slowly through the skin of his head, and his eyes were lifeless. He should have been happy really; he had a beautiful boy, a loving wife, a good job. But for everything right in his life his heart stuttered every few moments in tribute to the late consulting detective.

            Time can heal all wounds, but time had done nothing to heal the rip that had been so fragilely sewn up before. The jagged edges still had the thread laced through, but the rip had left the pieces too battered to sew up once more. He was afraid that it’d just crumble. He felt his heart would simply just disintegrate at any time, and he’d be left a more hollow shell of a man than he already was. Mary knew. She did, and god bless her she didn’t push; didn’t blame him. She didn’t even try to talk about it. She knew that he was there for the support of her and their child, but not much else. John hadn’t been able to properly _feel_ since that day, and it haunted him every waking second since.

            He stood there wearing the exact same thing he’d worn before. He’d put it on out of irony, having already made up his mind to do it weeks, maybe even months before. He knew what he was leaving behind; and he felt that he was being selfish to his family, especially his son, but he couldn’t get past it, and he knew he never would. There was no Sherlock without John. And there was no John without Sherlock.

            His toes peaked out over the ledge, and by some odd coincidence, it was another cloudy day. The wind slapped his face with no relief, and the tears that strolled down his cheeks burned as the cool air dried them to his skin, leaving faint trails in their wake. He looked up to the cloudy sky, the same colour as that damned coat he used to wear, and he whispered his words above,

            “But I’ve always chosen you.”

Arms out, he went over, thoughts of his imminent reunion with Sherlock filled his mind, and as his head cracked against the pavement, the bittersweet nothingness that had filled what used to be his body was bliss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4/13/15: Please do not duplicate or post this content elsewhere without consent.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary thinks about the future with her son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Closure! Kind-of.

Mary looked at the reprinted version of her infant’s birth certificate. It had been a decision easily made, but when she thought of that, it brought her grief to the forefront. She’d hoped John might be able to get over it one day. That maybe, if nothing else, he would have been able to live for their son, but she knew that that had always been a fantasy. If John had decided to live, he would’ve let her move on. He still would have been around for their child, but she knows that he wouldn’t have held her back from finding someone who could give her his all, something he would have known he never could have.

            It was really quite a mouthful, but she wouldn’t have had it be any other way. Her son deserved to know about the two greatest men she’d ever had the chance to know. She thought about how she’d tell him of their adventures; and of their love for him, despite their absence in his life.

            It wasn’t going to be easy. After everything she’d accomplished in her life under different names, it could still very well be the hardest thing she’ll have ever had to do; but she knew it would all be worth it every time she looked at the small, round face that looked up at her with such kind, curious eyes.

John hated it, but their son would love it.

_Sherlock Hamish Holmes Watson_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4/13/15: Please do not duplicate or post this content elsewhere without consent.


End file.
